


I Can't See The End (So Where Do I Begin?)

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, God Complex, M/M, Mpreg, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: Takatora Kureshima needs a child. Ryoma Sengoku is determined to birth the god of the new world.





	I Can't See The End (So Where Do I Begin?)

Within the seven-day period Ryoma Sengoku marked off on his calendar as being the most likely period of time for his child to be born, his water breaks. A sigh leaves his lips as he pushes himself away from the laptop in front of him, the samples that need to be analyzed soon.

His hand wanders to the swell of his abdomen, finding the place where the child kicks without even having to try, squeezing his eyes shut. As per usual, his research was accurate.

“It’s about time, you know,” he murmurs before firing off a single email to his employer.  _ It’s time. _

There is no reply, but within five minutes Takatora Kureshima walks into his laboratory, long strides, his face betraying his excitement even as he tries to keep himself calm. Ryoma holds out a hand and Takatora takes it, fervently kissing his fingers, his dark eyes shining down at him.

“I’ve informed the hospital we’re coming,” he says, helping Ryoma to his feet. “Let’s go.”

* * *

When Ryoma first met Takatora Kureshima, he had found Takatora in his lab, and the man proceeded to praise his work with the Lock Seeds. Ryoma’s research had been born not of a desire to save the world, which is what the Counter-Helheim Project was supposed to be about. Rather, Ryoma had been interested in birthing the god of the new world that was to come.

The two of them had worked closely together as nothing more than companions in this fight to save something of the world they knew. There was a long stretch of time between when Ryoma first met corporate spy Yoko Minato and when he decided to bring in the thug who was simply known as Sid, a long stretch of weeks and months where it was only the two of them.

Not that Ryoma himself was alone. Takatora gave him what he asked for: men and women who would hang on his every word and do his bidding without question as well as the resignation forms necessary to remove those who stood between him and his goal from Yggdrasil.

Ryoma’s work was unparalleled. No one had his genius or his understanding of Helheim and its flora, no one had his vision or his ability to see what could come of his knowledge. And because of this, Takatora, too, hung on his every word. After all, Takatora could not save the world alone.

Somewhere along the pathway they walked together, Takatora found a different route to walk, one that would afford him one billion saved lives as opposed to none. Ryoma had been disappointed, to say the least. He thought Takatora understood him. He thought Takatora would be the god Ryoma built with his own two hands, with his blood, sweat, and tears.

He would have to find another or he would have to take the plunge himself, but he had decided on neither when Takatora entered his laboratory one late evening. A glance at the clock in the corner of his laptop revealed that Takatora should have gone home hours ago, though late nights were not uncommon at Yggdrasil. It just seemed that Takatora was not one to utilize them whereas Ryoma had been weighing the pros and cons of living in his lab until the end was upon them.

“You should have gone home hours ago,” Ryoma says without glancing up from his screen, making a few notes on the legal pad by his elbow as his eyes scan the data before him. No technology had been capable of analyzing Helheim, so Ryoma had built his own.

Takatora takes the empty seat nearby and Ryoma couches his annoyance at the man still believing he can still make himself at home in this space. “I needed to speak to you before I left, and there were documents I had been putting off. I decided to make the most of the night and do it all at once. And you are one to talk about spending late nights here.”

“The world is not going to save itself, and you have no one who can do the level of work that I can do in the short amount of time it would take me to do it.” Ryoma shakes his hair back out of his eyes, clicking through the half-dozen documents he has open right now to find what he needs. “If you need to speak to me, make it quick. I still have hours of work left to complete tonight.”

“You once told me you wanted to give birth to a god,” Takatora says.

The words are enough to draw Ryoma from his research, and he stares at Takatora through his glasses, wondering if he heard him correctly. “I did. Why do you bring this up now?”

“My father has been rather forceful about producing an heir even in the event the world does come to an end.” Takatora runs his fingers through his hair slowly. “I would need a partner.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of women you could pay to give you a child,” Ryoma says.

Takatora chuckles. “I could, you’re right. But I need it to be someone I can trust to do the job.”

“Well, yet again, I’m sure you can find someone. It isn’t my duty to search that person out for you, so I don’t see why you’re coming to me with this.” Ryoma returns his attention to his screen, already losing interest in the conversation. “Good luck with this venture, I suppose.”

“I want you to be the one to bear my child. I can trust you like I can trust no one else, and…” Takatora is quiet. “There is no end to what I can give you, if you can do this for me.”

The silence that stretches between the two of them seems endlessly deep to Ryoma as he leans back in his hair, willing to admit he is bowled over by this request. Give Takatora a child? Carry the Kureshima heir? His interest in finding a partner had been put to rest when Takatora had failed him, and he hasn’t thought about having a family. When would he ever have the time?

He turns his eyes to Takatora, sure the remark must have been a joke, but Takatora holds his gaze steadily, his eyes dark and solemn. As solemn as they have been ever since he and Ryoma began to discuss the new world that would come to rise after Helheim’s invasion.  _ There is no end to what I can give you, if you do this for me. _ Ah, but of course there is. Ryoma has only ever wanted one thing from the man sitting across from him, and Takatora had turned that down in favor of saving the world. There is nothing more that Ryoma can ask for him.

“You should know better than to trust a man like me with such a task,” he says coldly.

Takatora smiles, leans in closer to him. “What is it you want most in this world, Ryoma Sengoku?”

“My only desire has been to bring forth the god of the new world. You know this.” Ryoma turns away from him pointedly, trying to find where he left off in his work.

“Then I will give that to you.” Takatora’s hand takes his, forcibly turning him back around, pulling Ryoma closer. “If you give me the heir the Kureshima family needs, then I will be your god.”

The silence between them is longer and heavier this time, Ryoma’s eyes widening behind his glasses.

“Why?” he asks, his voice low and breathy, his chest twisting tighter and tighter as the seconds tick by. “Why would you do this? Are you that desperate for a child of your own?”

Takatora shrugs his shoulders, his thumb rubbing slow circles into the back of Ryoma’s hand. “I need this, and you need me, correct? Two birds, one stone. What do you say?”

Ryoma swallows so hard that his throat clicks. “Fine, then. I’ll give you your heir.”

* * *

Ryoma takes slow and steady breaths on the drive, the seat tilted back enough to allow him to relax, one hand cradling the lower curve of his abdomen and the other rubbing circles into the skin where he can feel the child kick. Takatora is calm and composed behind the wheel, but at red lights his eyes steal over to where Ryoma lays, his breathing a little more erratic. Ryoma would have never thought Takatora the type to desire a family of his own.

The pregnancy itself has been a perfectly average one. It may have forced Ryoma to relax on his research more than he would have given any other choice, and he has had to keep a better eye on his diet and his sleep schedule to make sure the child would have all of the tools they needed to grow healthily within his womb. None of the exams performed on him have revealed any abnormalities, and the more advanced tests he ran himself when he had the time and the desire had proven that his careful work has resulted in a perfectly healthy baby.

At the hospital, Takatora helps him out of the car, one arm wrapped tight around Ryoma’s shoulders and the other beneath his elbow, helping him stand, giving him something firm to lean against until he has his balance once again. He would have expected Takatora to head inside to retrieve a nurse for him but this is better; he uses the moment to lean against Takatora, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, reveling in the way Takatora holds him close, the life the two of them have created together. Before he can process what is happening, Takatora shifts and then Ryoma is lifted off of the ground, one arm braced in the small of his back, the other gathered in the backs of his knees. He finds himself cradled against Takatora’s strong chest and he opens his eyes, just slightly alarmed, not sure what to say to this. In the end, he says nothing, wrapping his arms around Takatora’s neck and allowing himself to be carried inside with no complaints, and the angle allows him to see the way Takatora’s lips quirk upward in a smile.

Inside of him, the baby kicks a little harder, as if they, too, anticipate their arrival into this world.

* * *

Ryoma has been inside of the Kureshima residence before and though tastefully decorated and opulent, the house itself is cold, barren and empty. He only gets a glance of his surroundings this evening, however; Takatora catches him by the arm and draws him up the long staircase to his private bedroom. The room itself is dimly lit, Zawame spread out picturesque in the massive windows, the stars above glittering like diamonds in the black velvet of the sky.

This is not what he expected. Something colder and more clinical; he had the ability to easily combine an embryo and sperm and it would be simple to find someone to implant the fertilized egg into his uterus where it would take up room, find a space of wall to attach itself to cozily for the next nine months. But Takatora had insisted that Ryoma come home with him, and Ryoma has always been vulnerable to Takatora’s charm, to his smile, to the temptation of something, of more, of touching and tasting the man he had once viewed as the leader of the future world.

He expects hesitance. He does not expect Takatora to pull him close, nimble fingers finding the elastic in his hair and snapping it, sending dark strands falling around his face. Takatora brushes his hair back behind his ear, fingertips tracing the contours of Ryoma’s face until his breath catches, the attention almost too much for him to handle. And then Takatora kisses him with a fervor and passion Ryoma only could have dreamed of, his hands gripping Takatora’s shoulders.

Once, Takatora was the only person in the world deserving of Ryoma’s trust. There had been questions, rumors, gossip, and Takatora had come to him to clarify the truth rather than simply listening to what people insisted was the truth. Takatora has known for years, for the majority of their relationship, but Ryoma is still hesitant, still uncertain. Takatora, in contrast, is not. He leans back, his eyes questioning, fingers brushing the black elastic band of the garment that keeps Ryoma’s chest flat. Only when Ryoma nods does he remove the binder, tossing it aside with Ryoma’s shirt, mouth hot on his skin, fingers squeezing and kneading until Ryoma keens softly.

His mouth feels just as good between Ryoma’s legs, and truthfully, having Takatora kneeling at his feet is almost more than he can handle. Almost more than he can process in this moment.

“Your legs are shaking,” Takatora informs him before licking back inside of him, gripping his hips.

“I know this.” Ryoma sinks his fingers into Takatora’s hair, gripping the styled waves tightly, desperate to keep Takatora there for just a moment longer. “I know my own body, Takatora.”

He almost loses his balance. Takatora elects to carry him to bed, still fully dressed.

“You’re beautiful, Ryoma.” Takatora’s fingers are deft as they slip inside of him. “So lovely.”

Ryoma leaves bright red scratch lines down his back, head thrown back against the pillows, legs tight around his waist. In answer, Takatora leaves wet red kisses down his throat, down his chest.

He’s still shivering from the aftershocks when Takatora’s hand drifts between his legs, fingers finding him like he’s always known Ryoma’s body. “Let me take you again and again.”

* * *

By the time Ryoma is settled in bed and the nurses and doctors have let them be, Takatora is up and pacing, his excitement rolling off of him in waves. Ryoma watches him, hands folded on top of his belly, conscious always that the life inside of him is ready to bloom into the world.

Bloom like the flora of Helheim, extend roots into the ground and branches into the sky. Though Ryoma has never been interested in children and even less interested in the idea of starting a family, something about this moment makes his pulse a touch faster, his impatience jumping.

“Have you ever chosen a name?” he asks Takatora’s back, watching Takatora whirl around to face him, dark eyes intent on him. “I left the choice up to you. I hope you chose something.”

Takatora laughs and crosses the room in quick strides just like he did the night he came to ask Ryoma for this, planting his hands on the mattress, kissing Ryoma firmly on the mouth. “Of course I did. I chose a name for a boy and a name for a girl, just like I told you I would.”

“And should that name not suit our child later on down the line…” Ryoma trails off. He has made peace with himself, with his existence, but some things still sting just the same.

Takatora takes his face in his hands and kisses him again. “Then they can choose a name, too.”

He kisses Ryoma again and again, one hand remaining shaped to fit the side of Ryoma’s face, as if sculpted just to touch him. The other wanders lower, finding there Ryoma’s fingers are linked over his belly, pressing there until Ryoma loosens his hands enough to take Takatora’s in his, pressing his touch to where their child kicks against the wall of Ryoma’s body.

“What would you want, if you could choose? A boy or a girl?” Ryoma asks breathlessly.

“I don’t care.” Takatora moves to lay his head on Ryoma’s belly, and Ryoma strokes his hair back out of his eyes, his heart twisting at the honesty. “I just want your eyes. And your smile. And your intelligence. I never want to look at our child and not see you in their face.”

Ryoma tells himself the hormones are why his eyes tear up and nothing more.

* * *

The conferences are long and exhausting and Ryoma has very little patience for people with markedly lower intelligence than he has, but he deals with them just the same. He and Minato have become fixed members of these conferences, and he hears the occasional whispers, the wonder as to who they are, what their role in this project truly is. Takatora keeps them close, and Ryoma wonders if it is merely for back-up or if he truthfully cannot community the technology and research Ryoma has created in a desperate attempt to save as many lives as possible.

None of this material contains the Genesis Driver. None of this material discusses Ryoma’s final steps toward ensuring Takatora’s rise to godhood comes to fruition.

The blurry picture of the Overlord is all he has to go off of right now, but as far as he is concerned, this further paves the road toward the existence of the Golden Fruit, the one Ryoma will pick with his own hands and give to Takatora, to the man whom he has devoted his life to.

As if to confirm this, his stomach rolls unpleasantly, and he works to keep his expression composed. The morning sickness has not been a delight to deal with. None of this has been.

Minato touches his elbow, just barely, and he inclines his head to tell her he is okay.

When the conference is completed and Ryoma can return to the hotel room Takatora had chosen for them, he locks himself in the bathroom and rids his stomach of the food he had consumed this morning. The process is disgusting and more than a bit painful, but he is used to it enough at this point that he is able to wash the taste out of his mouth and is in the process of brushing his teeth when Takatora walks into the room. Ryoma doesn’t have to ask Takatora if he picked the lock to let himself into the room. It has become a habit of his whenever Ryoma locks the door.

“You should tell me when you don’t feel well.” Takatora’s arms wrap around him from behind, his lips soft against the side of Ryoma’s throat. “Let me care for you when you’re sick.”

Ryoma rolls his eyes in the mirror where Takatora can see before he finishes up brushing his teeth, rinsing his mouth and turning to face the man behind him. It had taken multiple shared nights to ensure the seed of life was sown in Ryoma’s womb, but he had tested himself multiple times before allowing Takatora to take him to a hospital in order to make sure he was entirely correct. Two months had followed, and their child was growing adequately within him. There were unpleasantries, and morning sickness was one of them, but it was well worth it to ensure the world would have its god, to ensure the child within him would be born into the world.

Takatora draws him closer, hands smoothing Ryoma’s hair back out of his face, his eyes meeting Ryoma’s, a silent question before Ryoma answers by leaning in to kiss him. This has been more tentative, less set in stone, harder to predict and more difficult to maintain than a pregnancy has been. He would have expected Takatora to return to being his employer and his friend and nothing more, but Takatora has seemed unable to return to who they once were, what they once were. Not that Ryoma minds. There is honor in being chosen by a god, after all, and even before he saw the potential that enfolds Takatora like a veil, he was certain he would have followed Takatora into hell and back if only it meant being by his side.

“Your face is glowing, you know,” Takatora informs him. He tastes of coffee, black, and it doesn’t clash with the minty aftertaste in Ryoma’s mouth half as much as he expected it to. “Your hair is growing faster, as well. Or maybe this is because you’re actually taking care of yourself.”

Ryoma scoffs at him, threading his fingers through Takatora’s hair. “I am in perfect health, yes.”

“And so is this one.” Takatora reaches between them, his hand resting over where Ryoma’s stomach is still flat, the child within not quite big enough to influence its shape. “Both of you are.”

Ryoma doesn’t know what to say to that. His feelings for Takatora have always been complex, something he has never been able to pin down underneath a single meaning, but Ryoma knows he cares for Takatora. It would seem the inverse is true, as well.

“Let’s stay in for a while. There are still… Various dealings going on downstairs and I have no desire to take part in them. I know you don’t, either.” Takatora pulls Ryoma in against him, until their bodies are pressed flush together, until not even air is between them. “You can read, if you want. We can put on a movie. Most importantly, I can take care of you.”

“This sounds preferable to me.” Ryoma would be lying if he said that having someone take care of him for a change does not pique his interest.

* * *

“I thought I’d bring you flowers,” Minato informs them when she walks into the room, setting up an elaborate bouquet on the side table. She stares at where Takatora is dozing, his head resting against the side of Ryoma’s belly, an arm curled protectively around him. “Is he asleep?”

“He’s been having sleepless nights lately, so this doesn’t come as a surprise to me. Our baby is still a long way off from arriving.” Ryoma pats Takatora on the cheek before looking up at Minato. “Nothing has gone amiss at Yggdrasil, has it?”

Minato shakes her head. “If it had, we would have dealt with it and kept it away from you two until well after the baby was born. I was just coming to check on you. Believe it or not, Professor, but I have a vested interest in your health and making sure that our overseer is fine.”

Ryoma chuckles and nods, leaning back into the pillows. “Well, all is well here,” he reassures her. “I’ll make sure you’re one of the first people I call when the baby is born. Until then…” He strokes a hand down the side of Takatora’s sleeping face. “Keep an eye on the Beat Riders for me.”

* * *

“You know, they make interesting research subjects. Their constant fighting gives me a great influx of data at a time.” Ryoma scans the documents before him, sorting them into neat piles. With six Lock Seeds in Zawame, he has a lot of work to do. “Especially the Orange Lock Seed.”

Takatora heaves a sigh at him, dropping down heavily on the couch beside him. “I still don’t think that allowing Oren to make use of the Durian Lock Seed is safe. You know he’s proficient in combat. This is going to cause more trouble than it’s worth, I’m sure of it.”

“Right now, all they’re doing is fighting.” Ryoma places a comforting hand on Takatora’s knee. “If he tries to seriously hurt them, then we’ll step in to stop him. It’s as simple as that.”

“You’re confident that Zangetsu Shin is strong enough to take on anyone who should rise to the challenge?” Takatora asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

The question makes Ryoma smirk. He had developed the Genesis Driver and then fine-tuned the Melon Energy Lock Seed until Zangetsu Shin was easily one of the most powerful Armored Riders to arise from his work. Duke, Marika, and Sigurd are hardly a match to his brilliance.

“I am,” he says, “and you should be, too. Now, how did Gaim get their hands on Grape, exactly?”

“Sid says that Kouta Kazuraba came to inquire about another Lock Seed for Team Gaim after I scared Yuya Somii off during our first encounter,” Takatora says, and Ryoma makes a few notes in his notebook. “I didn’t expect Somii to return to suing Orange this quickly, though.”

“It’s just as well,” Ryoma says, tapping his pen against his lower lip as his eyes dart over the stacks of documents. “Pinecone and Acorn are interesting as duo but they seem to have obvious limits in singles. Mango… Where did that come from? Kumon must have gotten it from Helheim.”

“I can get my hands on it for you if the need arises. Kumon is an accomplished fighter, but he isn’t anything I can’t handle,” Takatora breathes the words against Ryoma’s neck.

Ryoma caps his pen, satisfied with what information he’s gleaned this evening.

* * *

The contractions are not as painful as Ryoma expected them to be. Ten hours at the hospital and their child has been making tentative steps forward, but it will still be a while yet. He keeps himself occupied with the various science and medical journals Sid dropped off on his brief visit.

“I think they’re both excited for this in their own way,” Takatora says, finally relaxed, leaning back in the chair he has positioned by Ryoma’s bed. “They think they’ll be an aunt and uncle.”

“I have no siblings and neither do you, so it isn’t as if the positions are not open.” Ryoma licks a finger to turn the page, eyes jumping from one article to the next. “Unless you mind, of course.”

Takatora chuckles, though the sound is bittersweet. “I don’t mind having family, Ryoma.”

“Then they can call themselves an aunt and uncle.” Ryoma smiles. “Our child will be spoiled.”

It took time for him to come around to the idea that he was having a child with Takatora, that he was going to give birth to someone who would be half of him, and half of Takatora, and a whole new person at the same time. The possibilities were more than endless.

“Are you in need of anything?” Takatora asks, fingers brushing the bend of Ryoma’s elbow.

Ryoma shakes his head. “I’m quite fine. The contractions have not become painful yet.”

Takatora’s expression is pinched. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing you in pain.”

Without saying a word, Ryoma marks his place in the journal, sets it aside, and pats the side of his bed, welcoming Takatora’s close presence and the way Takatora takes him into his arms, holding him close, holding him as if he’s a precious and delicate thing that Takatora wants to keep safe at all costs. Ryoma would have believed he thought that of the child long before he was able to accept that Takatora felt the same toward him, that someone as inspirational and incredible as Takatora could view him as someone to love, to cherish. He has learned, as time has passed. He has learned that Takatora loves him without constraint, without hesitation, without regret, and Ryoma can only offer him his love in return along with their soon to be born child.

“Nothing is truly worth the effort if there is no struggle and no strain to reach it. Besides, I’ve read that there are epidurals that make the experience nearly painless.” He would add that he is not afraid of pain, but he knows Takatora is concerned enough for the two of them.

“As always, you are flawlessly correct. I should focus on doing all I can to help you so that even if I can’t take the pain away for you, I can ensure that the process is not more difficult than it has to be, and that both of you are safe in the end.” Takatora touches his face, then his abdomen, and the child kicks as if understanding what his father wants so desperately for them both.

“Everything will be fine. There have been no complications so far.” Ryoma is confident the birthing process will follow the same route as his pregnancy, and the risk is worth the gain.

Takatora is quiet for a moment before tucking his face against the side of Ryoma’s neck. His breath is warm, his lips so soft as he speaks. “I hope so. I want you both to be safe and healthy.”

“We are right now, and we will be once I’m holding our child in my arms.” Just thinking about it makes Ryoma’s heart beat even faster. “Do you plan to cut the umbilical cord?”

“It’s an honor usually reserved for the father, and I have every intention of taking it.” Takatora rubs where their child kicks, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Though I have to say I’m looking more forward to seeing the two of you together in the flesh than anything else.”

Ryoma has thought of this more often than he can explain in words, especially the later he got in his pregnancy, the closer their child was to being born. He dreamed of it more often than not, and every time, the child looked difference. Sometimes a boy, sometimes a girl, sometimes the dream was not clear either way. Sometimes he looked into his own eyes; others, Takatora’s.

The thousands of combinations have raised within him the desire to see this child for himself more than he can ever hope to express. Not just the child he and Takatora made together, but the child of a god and of the man he chose to remain by his side as he enters godhood. Ryoma wonders what that makes him, though he’s almost afraid to find the answer to the question.

Takatora seems to sense the uncertainty in him because he chooses this moment to kiss Ryoma, draw his face closer and press their lips together. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle and Ryoma wonders how many times the world has had to change to ensure the two of them would find each other, tying them together tighter and tighter as time passed by. He wonders if there was ever a life he lead in another world where he never met Takatora. He hopes not.

* * *

The Energy Lock Seeds in their completion are some of the strongest that Ryoma has ever fostered into being, and he is proud of them. In comparison to the Kachidoki Lock Seed, however, they are nothing. And so Ryoma must get his hands on the Lock Seed at all costs, no matter what it takes. Luckily, Takatora had long ago promised to do whatever it took to satisfy him.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” Ryoma can’t even bring himself to look at the Lock Seed.

Takatora smiles at him and shakes his head. “Zangetsu Shin protected me. You truly are marvelous.”

Ryoma seizes the Lock Seed then without another word, his face flushed from the words, and goes about the research he needs to ensure that this Lock Seed will not only work for Yuya Somii. No one will step between him and his desire to make Takatora the god of this world.

When nothing in his research reveals that the Lock Seed is limited to only one person, he alters Takatora’s Genesis Driver tirelessly until he is sure it can accept Kachidoki. Then and only then does he relinquish everything to Takatora once again, and Zangetsu Shin’s power-up courtesy of the new Lock Seed is quite possibly the most beautiful thing Ryoma has ever seen.

“There is no limit to what you can do with this,” Ryoma says firmly.

He wavers on his feet then, exhausted, his arms curling around his belly as he loses his balance, and Takatora catches him. Of course he does, he would never let Ryoma fall, and Ryoma presses his face against Takatora’s chest, against the white armor he knows so well.

“You have to stop pushing yourself so hard. It isn’t good for you or for the baby.” Takatora sets him down in his chair before closing the Locks, kneeling before Ryoma even before his transformation has fully receded. “I’m sending for food for you, and then you’re going to rest. Understand?”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Ryoma smoothes his hands over his stomach, finally beginning to curve with the presence of the life growing inside of him. “I should never have pushed myself this hard or endangered myself or the child. But I can rest now. My work is done for the moment.”

Takatora breathes a sigh of relief and stands, and Ryoma smiles tiredly when Takatora’s hands smooth down his face, brushing his hair back out of his eyes in the process. “Nothing will stop me from reaching the Golden Fruit, Ryoma. I promised you that I would fight until the end to become the god of our new world, and I intend on keeping that promise no matter what it takes.”

The smile that lights Ryoma’s face is probably fervent, perhaps almost hysterical in his fatigue. “And as I promised, I will bring forth the child of the god of the new world.”

Ryoma eats the food Takatora orders for him, then monitors his vital signs, the levels of minerals in his blood, and is satisfied that there has been no real change. Then and only then does he allow Takatora to escort him from Yggdrasil to his house to sleep. In the dark with Takatora, the city of Zawame spread out before them, he allows himself to dream about the world to come.

* * *

Eight hours passes before the nurse informs Ryoma that his cervix has fully dilated, which is what he expected from what he’d learned of his research. Next to him, Takatora squeezes his hand.

“They’re on the way now,” he says, his eyes wild and wide and it’s so uncharacteristic of Takatora for him to be this visibly excited that Ryoma can’t help a small smile at the sight. “It’s been nine months and we’re finally going to meet our child. We’re going to see them.”

“We are,” Ryoma confirms, wincing at the slight pain radiating from the core of his body. He had been told it would hurt, but the epidurals will take care of most of the pain. The rest, he will bear no matter what it costs him. “I’ve waited far too long for this moment.”

Takatora kisses Ryoma’s hand, then kisses him, over and over, and Ryoma feels the heat spreading through his face just as the first slight wave of pain spreads through his body. He can manage it, though, and he gives Takatora a small smile to show him that he is fine.

This is hardly the worst thing the two of them have faced together, after all.

* * *

Ryoma is seven months pregnant when he finds himself faced with the puzzle of the Kiwami Lock Seed, something Takatora had grasped when DJ Sagara had offered it to him.

Kachidoki was simplistic enough for him to understand once he was able to wrap his head around its function, but Kiwami is different. The barrage of different fruits on its surface draws Ryoma’s eye more than once, and he wonders if his research has been a steady path to lead him to this moment. After all, the Lock Seeds are fruit-themed. It would only make sense that the very height of their power would come in the form of a key that would unlock all of their power. With this in mind, he commences his research, determined to discover the truth.

Takatora seems oddly calm with the situation. Despite the fact both Somii and Kazuraba have made it clear they have no intentions of letting Takatora claim the Golden Fruit, and Kumon certain he can claim it for himself, Takatora has been on top of all three of them in battle. Ryoma is more than pleased, and he is certain this will be what they need to defeat the Overlords.

“This is what we need,” Ryoma finally says when he’s finished analyzing the Kiwami Lock Seed, pressing it into Takatora’s hand. “You only need to insert it for it to work. I’m certain.”

Takatora grasps his hand harder than he has in a while. His gaze is insistent and solemn as he meets Ryoma’s eyes. “I would not have been able to make it to this place without you.”

“Complete the task at hand,” Ryoma tells him. “Test the Lock. I want to see its form.”

It is fitting that Kiwami Arms is white and silver with a splash of rainbow, something truly fitting of a god. Ryoma would fall to his knees if he were standing in awe of its wonder and beauty. Nothing could be more fitting for Takatora to bear. Nothing could be more stunning.

Takatora straightens his shoulders, and though Ryoma cannot see his eyes, he can feel them. “I hope this suits your tastes. This will be the form I use to claim what belongs to me.”

Ryoma has to brace his hand on the desk so he can push himself to his feet and he smiles when Takatora comes to stand in front of him, gripping him gently by the elbow, helping him find his balance. Shameless, Ryoma splays his hand across Takatora’s chest, feeling the armor beneath his fingers, marveling at how perfect this form is for the man he adores.

“I still want to be the one who gives it to you properly, you know,” he says.

“I haven’t forgotten. And I will make sure that happens.” Takatora holds Ryoma close to him, and Ryoma feels safer than he ever has before in his life. “No matter what happens. It will happen.”

Ryoma preens at the words and grips Takatora’s shoulders. He is sure of this as well, more sure of this than he probably has any right to be.

* * *

“I can see the head now,” the doctor informs him in a bright, cheery voice that makes Ryoma want to sneer. “Keep pushing, you’re almost through. A few more and your baby will be here.”

“Did you hear? We’ll be able to see them soon,” Takatora whispers, and Ryoma squeezes his hand as he bears down again, pushing with every single muscle in the core of his body.

He tries not to squeeze Takatora’s hand too hard— the last thing he wants to do is injure him, after all— but it helps just the same. He feels as though he may burst, the pressure in his hips too much for him to bear, but he forces his way through it. He wants to see his child.

“I think one more big push will do it,” he’s told, and Ryoma bears down even harder this time.

The sharp cry that fills the room makes him slump back against the pillows in relief, his chest heaving as he struggles to calm his breathing. But his eyes remain trained at the end of his body, widening when the doctor lifts his child into the air, covered in blood and uterine fluids.

“Oh, he whispers as tears spring to his eyes and he hurries to bling them away. “There you are.”

“You have a boy,” the doctor tells Takatora as one of the nurses approaches him, a pair of sterilized scissors in hand. “Let the nurse tie off the cord and you’re welcome to cut it.”

Takatora turns to Ryoma, his eyes wide with wonder. “I’ll be right back, Ryoma.”

“Of course.” Ryoma smiles at him, his lips quivering. “Go to our baby so I can hold him.”

Takatora only hires the best people for any job, so their son is cleaned and weighed and measured, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket and placed in Ryoma’s arms within a matter of minutes. He reaches for the baby as soon as he sees him being brought his way and the nurse surrenders him without a fight. Ryoma cradles him close, looking down at his small, scrunched-up, pink face in wonder. As soon as Ryoma leans back, the baby stops wailing.

“You know it’s me, don’t you?” Ryoma asks him, aware his eyes are still wet. “Hello, little one.”

“Of course he knows it’s you. You’ve been inseparable for months,” Takatora murmurs.

Ryoma folds one piece of the blanket back to free one small hand, watching impossibly tiny fingers grasp one of his tightly. “It’s all right. I’m not going to let you go. I’m right here.”

Takatora sits on the side of the bed with him, wrapping an arm around Ryoma’s shoulders, the other settling beneath where his arms are buoyed to hold their son. It’s not unlike how he’d hold Ryoma close before, one arm wrapped around his swollen belly and the other around his back, holding both of them close. Their son looks up at Takatora and Takatora smiles down at him, and the love shining in his eyes makes Ryoma’s chest feel tight and full all at once.

“What name did you choose for a boy?” Ryoma asks him, looking up at him as well.

“Mitsuzane,” he whispers, and the name rolls off of his tongue in such a way that Ryoma can imagine him whispering it to himself over and over, letting himself become used to it. “That’s the name I chose for him. Mitsuzane Kureshima. What do you think of it?”

Ryoma smiles as he returns his gaze to their son— their Mitsuzane. “It’s a beautiful name fitting of such a beautiful child,” he says, and his voice chokes around the words.

“And you gave him to me.” Takatora squeezes his shoulders. “You brought him into this world.”

“And I’m going to protect him from everything in it. We both are.” Ryoma’s voice is firm and resolute, and Takatora nods, his face hardening slightly. “We have to.”

“I will protect him with every last breath in my body,” Takatora agrees.

They have time to themselves after Ryoma is cleaned up and everything checked over to make sure nothing is out of place. He’s sore and tired and feels as though he’s fought a long and lengthy battle, but it was worth it to hold Mitsuzane in his arms for the first time.

“It’s your turn to hold him,” he tells Takatora, looking up at him with a small smile.

Silently, Takatora accepts the small and precious bundle from Ryoma’s arms, and he curls himself around Mitsuzane in such a way that Ryoma can easily see he meant it when he said he would keep him safe. Mitsuzane seems content with the change, reaching out to grip Takatora’s tie.

“I’m going to take you two somewhere when you’re discharged from the hospital,” he says.

Ryoma cocks his head, not sure what to make of the words. “What do you mean? I wouldn’t think there was a place in the world safer than remaining by your side.”

“There is one place,” Takatora tells him, and his eyes shine with resolve when he looks up at him. “Someone with more power than even I have at my disposal.”

* * *

The forest of Helheim is a lush and vibrant place, but there is something strange and dark and gray about the remains of Rosyuo’s castle. Ryoma understands in more ways than one why Takatora thought he would be safe beside the previous person to claim the Golden Fruit, and this is why he doesn’t argue when Takatora asks him to remain here while he fights the other Overlords and hopefully paves his path the rest of the way to the fruit.

Mitsuzane is not unsettled by Rosyuo, either, so Ryoma is content to remain here as needed.

“You truly do believe this man is capable of doing what it takes to save your world from imminent destruction,” the King of the Overlords says while Ryoma walks around the room, bouncing Mitsuzane gently in his arms to keep him from becoming unsettled in his father’s absence.

The conversation Takatora had had with him in the hospital prior to his discharge had seemed unbelievable to Ryoma, but seeing this place now, he believes it. And he understands that the path to the Golden Fruit is even more complex than it was before, but he trusts Takatora to do what he must to reach it. He swore that he would do what it took, and Ryoma had given him his heart’s greatest desire in the meantime. Now, it was time for him to act.

“Takatora is unlike any man I’ve ever met in my life, and my intelligence has ensured I’ve met many men who think they can lead the world,” Ryoma informs him.

Rosyuo seems doubtful, not that Ryoma can exactly read his expression. “I have yet to see why he should be the one, especially when there are so many competitors in total.”

“Takatora can save this world. I know it.” Ryoma nods to himself. “He cares for it deeply.”

“And what about you? What is it that you care for?” Rosyuo asks him.

“I care for Takatora. I would follow him no matter what path he set his feet on. And I care for our child.” Ryoma looks down at Mitsuzane, who stops gumming his blanket to look up at Ryoma in silent answer. “I would do anything to protect this life we’ve managed to build together.”

The faint golden glow in the room makes him lift his head in time to see the Golden Fruit appear in Rosyuo’s hand, the sight of it silencing Ryoma. He doesn’t know what to say or what to think. He’s never imagined what it would look like before, or that it would come to appear in front of him like this, and he doesn’t know what to say. In his arms, Mitsuzane quivers and fusses, and Ryoma looks down at him, shushing him gently, pressing their faces together.

“I wondered if I would ever find the one,” Rosyuo says, “only to have him brought before me like this. My wife would be happy to know that I finally found you.”

Ryoma should be listening, truth be told, but calming Mitsuzane means more to him at this moment, and only when his child has calmed down in his arms does he raise his head, alarmed to find Rosyuo so close to him, and when did he grow this close? Ryoma pulls Mitsuzane against his chest— he can reach his Driver and the Lemon Energy Lock Seed at a moment’s notice if he needs it— but Rosyuo only holds up a hand to still him. Ryoma does not drop his defensive position, but he does allow his body to relax for just a moment.

“As he no doubt told you, my wife was chosen by this forest to bear the Golden Fruit, and she gave it to me.” Rosyuo is quiet, and Ryoma nods, remembering the story Takatora had told him. He had been hanging on every single word. “I was responsible for choosing the person who would bear the Golden Fruit, who would choose the person to change their world.”

Ryoma has no time to react. His vision runs golden for a moment, but there is no pain. Mitsuzane makes a startled noise in his arms and Ryoma moves to calm him, then raises his eyes to Rosyuo, not sure what to say, not even sure what to think. What has happened to him?

“What did you do to me?” he asks, aware that something feels noticeably wrong.

“If you believe your kind can still be saved,” Rosyuo tells him, “then you will choose the one who will save it. Now go back to your own world.”

A crack opens just behind him and with one last look at the Overlord King, Ryoma goes.

He’s walking toward Yggdrasil when a familiar flash of white appears at the corner of his vision, craning his neck to see Takatora’s Kiwami Arms form. Though only Somii and Kumon remain in this battle for the Golden Fruit, Takatora has done his best to keep the city safe from the Inves and the invasion of Helheim. As Ryoma watches, he closes the locks.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, hurrying up to him. “I left you in Helheim.”

“I don’t think there’s any more reason for you to fight,” Ryoma tells him just as a powerful convulsion seizes his body, struggling to speak through the pain. “Takatora, I have…”

Before he can collapse from the sheer pain, his arms tightening around Mitsuzane as if to ensure no harm can come to him in the fall, Takatora catches him and lifts him up into his arms. Ryoma smiles faintly at the familiar warmth and strength before consciousness fades. Distantly, he wonders if they were right to come this far after all.

* * *

“You sought this power for so long, Ryoma Sengoku, and in the end, that power was given to you without you even having to ask. I’m surprised Rosyuo chose to part with it after all.” The world is dreamy and strange and Ryoma is sure that this is not real, that this is something Other, perhaps the only place Sagara can speak to him right now. “And you now have the power to choose your champion, the person whose will can shape the world. What will you do?”

Ryoma scoffs at him, shaking his head, unused to this dreamy state. “My resolve has not changed. All of this was done with the express purpose to give Takatora the Golden Fruit, to shape him into the deserving god of the new world. So when all is said and done, the only person I could ever dream of giving this future to, and this power, is Takatora Kureshima.”

Sagara’s smile is enigmatic as his hand comes to rest on Ryoma’s shoulder. “I should have been able to guess without asking,” he says, and Ryoma rolls his eyes at him. “Then accept the power into yourself and give your champion what you believe he deserves.”

Accept this power? Nothing that he has been asked to do has ever been easier.

* * *

The human body of Ryoma Sengoku dissolves into golden glitter, and for a moment, there is nothing. He can still see and hear, of course, because he has not ceased to be in the way that he knows this means. He still has enough of himself that he can see Takatora surge to his feet, his face broken, his eyes flooding with tears, and Ryoma would never have guessed that he meant so much to Takatora that his apparent death would drive him to tears.

It takes the Fruit only a moment to reform his body, though Ryoma quickly notices the differences despite the relative shape being the same. There is a strange peace within his being that was not there before, and his clothing has been switched for white, soft flowing garments.

The hair that falls into his eyes is soft and golden, and Ryoma brushes it back behind his ears, turning to face Takatora, who has whirled around to find where he has rematerialized in the corner of the room. The anguish that seemed to cripple him just a moment ago vanishes instantly.

“Ryoma,” he whispers, and everything in his voice is adoration and relief and joy, and he sinks to his knees as he stretches his hands out, taking Ryoma’s in his and squeezing them gently. Again, Ryoma marvels at the man he sees as his god kneeling before him like this. “I thought you were dead. I thought he’d… Done something to you. I was afraid for you.”

“Rosyuo did not kill me. He merely implanted the Golden Fruit into my body so that I could choose the one that would accept it and change this world.” Ryoma rests his hands on Takatora’s head, threading his fingers through the familiar dark locks. “Your body has been evolving into that of an Overlord, has it not? As well a Somii’s and Kumon’s. Sagara told me quite a bit.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I… I only wanted to make sure you and Mitsuzane could be happy. That being said…” Takatora’s troubled gaze turns toward the window and Ryoma looks as well, his eyes widening at the sight of two Inves armies. “The two of them are fighting now.”

“Then you shall stop them. Enough blood has been shed. Enough people have died. No more fighting needs to occur. The only person worthy of the Golden Fruit has always been you, and I have every intention of giving it to you and only you.” Ryoma turns to scan the room, then walks over to where Mitsuzane lays in a bassinet. As soon as he sees Ryoma, he reaches for him, and Ryoma takes him into his arms without hesitation. “Now stop them before it’s too late.”

Takatora steals a kiss before he leaves the room and Ryoma moves toward the window to watch, aware of Mitsuzane softly fussing in his arms. He quiets him and wonders what life their son will have if this unfolds the way Ryoma and Takatora have always intended it to.

He can only hope it’s one the two of them can be proud of.

* * *

Takatora understands these two men have something to fight for, something as great to them as saving the world is to him. Somii wants to protect his home and save the human race, and Kumon wants to fashion a world where no one else will have to suffer ever again.

Their fears and desires were born from Takatora’s sins and his initial failures.

All he can do for them now is end their fighting and save them from certain destruction.

The Orange and Banana Lock Seeds are nothing in comparison to Kiwami, but Takatora admires their resolve and their fervor and their ability that makes their Lock Seeds so much more than simple engineering ever could. Ryoma had built these Lock Seeds to evolve with their users, and Takatora knows that without the power of Helheim in his veins, without Ryoma waiting for him to end this, he could not imagine being able to hold them off. But he cannot—  _ will not _ — let them kill each other or hurt each other anymore. If he is going to be the god of this new world, then he is going to have to make sure that this endless strife can no longer continue.

But he manages to cancel both of their transformations and to make the Inves armies recede into nothingness. Somii and Kumon are exhausted, and through their connection to Helheim, Takatora can feel how little the two of them want to fight any longer. That alone is what makes him cancel his transformation, to extend human hands to the two of them.

How can one man possibly rule an entire planet all by himself? Takatora knows better than that.

Ryoma appears beside him; he can feel the golden aura rather than see it, and he can hear the excited little noises Mitsuzane makes as well. His lips are already curving into a smile even as Somii and Kumon start, not understanding what is right in front of them.

“You did as I asked you to,” Ryoma says. “Claim your prize as my champion, Takatora.”

Takatora turns to face him, to see him golden and glowing and beautiful, to see Mitsuzane in his arms, and he can’t stop his smile. “Gladly, Ryoma. I promised you I would.”

Ryoma extends his hand and the fruit materializes in his palm in the shape of an apple, and Takatora receives it from him, feeling its heat and power heavy in his palms. He looks at Ryoma once more, at the man who had given him this life, who had fulfilled his wildest dreams, and then raises the fruit to his lips to take the fateful bite he promised Ryoma that he would.

The vines that wrap around his body feel almost friendly in contrast to how Helheim has seemed this entire time, and he remembers Ryoma telling him that Helheim held the key to creation, not destruction. And then life and light and power surges through his body, and the vines recede, and Takatora looks down at the silver armor so like Kiwami Arms, runs his fingers through golden hair.

“I have to say,” Sagara says from out of nowhere, “we’ve rarely had two Men of the Beginning.”

“We do nothing but exceed expectations,” Takatora says, moving to wrap Ryoma and their son in his arms, content in the knowledge that the two of them are finally safe.

Sagara smiles that not-quite smile and cocks his head at him. “So, then,” he says, walking up to Takatora, his hands spread wide. “You have possession of the Golden Fruit and the power to shape the world in your image. What will you do with that kind of power, Takatora Kureshima?”

Takatora only smiles at him in return. “What I said I would do. I’m going to save the world.”

* * *

Zawame City is finally at peace within itself, the inhabitants returned, the Beat Riders having long since returned to their dancing. Ryoma stands on the balcony outside of Takatora’s bedroom, Mitsuzane’s arms loosely wrapped around his neck as he looks out with wide eyes. Four years old, born into a world influenced by pain and destruction, but he’s known nothing but happiness since his birth. Ryoma has seen to that to the best of his ability.

Takatora walks up behind him, wrapping him in his arms, and Ryoma hums softly. “Come to bed,” he murmurs against his ear. “We have a lot to do tomorrow. But for now, let’s rest.”

Mitsuzane chooses this moment to yawn, and Ryoma relinquishes the view for the warmth of Takatora’s embrace.


End file.
